


shivers

by jilliancares



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Birthday Sex, M/M, Rimming, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 08:52:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18546427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jilliancares/pseuds/jilliancares
Summary: Peter wakes up to a Deadpool from the future, apparently here to bestow a birthday present.





	shivers

There was a zap — and a flash of light — and then there was a heavy weight as someone fell on top of Peter. His heart was racing and his mind was still groggy from sleep, but before he could shove the intruder across the room with his super strength, he heard them muttering. And he recognized their voice.

 _“Deadpool?”_  he said incredulously, shoving him off the bed and onto the floor. Deadpool shot back up to his feet, and then ignored Peter’s protests as he plopped back onto the bed.

“The one and only!”

Peter was about to say something along the lines of _what are you doing here_  before he realized he wasn’t wearing his mask. Deadpool shouldn’t even know where he _lived_! Did the merc even realize whose house he was in?!

“Put a cork in your panic, Petey, we ain’t got the time,” Deadpool said.

“What?”

“I’m from the future, Webs. So, no, you don’t have to worry about your identity being compromised.” Deadpool looked around the room then, lit only by the lights outside shining through the bedroom window. “You weren’t kidding when you said your place back then was pretty crappy.”

“Hey!”

“You don’t agree?”

Peter shifted uncomfortably. Sure, it wasn’t exactly luxurious, but it was still home. There was something he loved about the small apartment. About the creaky floorboards and that one mouse that refused to be caught.

But that wasn’t really what was on his mind. No, it was more about how Deadpool was _in his bedroom_. About how, apparently, Peter had decided to go ahead and give him his identity in the future, for whatever idiotic reason. Well, that wouldn’t happen again, if Peter had any choice in the matter.

“You look confused,” Deadpool said, and he reached out, his thumb brushing over the space between Peter’s eyebrows. He’d been furrowing them unconsciously. “What’s up, baby boy? You don’t believe I’m really from the future?”

“That, and I don’t understand why you’d be visiting me in the past. Is one of my actions in the next few days going to doom the universe?”

Deadpool laughed. “Nope, not at all! I’m here as a birthday present. Obviously.” He emphasized this by tapping the alarm clock next to Peter’s bed, currently presenting in glowing letters that it was past one in the morning.

Peter shook his head, still confused.

“And as for whether I’m really from the future…” Deadpool continued. “I know all sorts of things about you that I shouldn’t know otherwise. Like how May makes the best pecan pie in the known universe. Or how you walk on the ceiling when you’re stressed out. Or how you switched your major three times in college—”

“Wait, I do?”

“Or how you get all silent and shivery when you come.”

_“What?”_

Peter couldn’t see his face, but he was sure Deadpool was leering at him. And that maybe this was all a set up. Maybe a bad guy had broken into his room and injected him with a hallucinogen. Because only _he_  knew those things. And he wouldn’t just go and tell Deadpool!

“Future you sent me as a birthday gift,” Deadpool continued, oblivious to Peter’s mixture of disbelief and panic.

“I don’t believe you,” Peter said. Because if that were true, then he would remember how Peter had felt about Deadpool at this time. Sure, they teamed up on the occasion, and even more occasionally got food together and ate it on a nearby roof, but that didn’t change the fact that Deadpool was unstable. And annoying. And so what if his suit did nothing to hide his muscles? And _so what_  if Peter had jacked off on a few _rare occasions_  with the image of Deadpool in his head? It didn’t change anything!

“He said you wouldn’t,” Deadpool said, flopping down on top of Peter. Realistically, Peter knew that he was ten times stronger than Deadpool. That he could easily fling him across the room. But the weight of him on Peter was still very real, and for some reason Peter felt frozen. Deadpool was walking his fingers up Peter’s chest.

“I hear you had a very lonely year, this year,” Deadpool continued. Peter could tell he was pouting through the mask. “You haven’t made any real friends in college and the only time you hang out with anyone is — gasp! — when we team up!”

“That’s not true,” Peter blatantly lied. He didn’t want it to be, at least. College was supposed to be where you made your life-long friends, or so Peter had thought. But in the past two years, he’d never made a friend more serious than the kind you sometimes talked to in class.

“I’m just here to make your birthday a good one,” Deadpool said, his voice suddenly deeper. Peter felt goosebumps pop up all over his body at the tone, and he didn’t smack Deadpool away when his gloved hand landed on his hip, his thumb sneaking up under Peter’s t-shirt. “Is that okay with you, Petey-pie?”

Against probably all of Peter’s better judgement, he nodded against the pillows.

“I’m gonna need you to use your words, baby boy.”

“I — yes, it’s fine,” Peter stuttered out, and the next thing he knew, he was laying on his stomach. Peter hadn’t realized he was hard until now, with his arousal pressed into the mattress, but he barely got to appreciate it before he was being maneuvered up onto his knees. Was Deadpool going to fuck him like this? Because Peter had had sex before, he wasn’t a virgin, but he’d yet to do it with a guy. And he wasn’t exactly sure if he was ready for something like—

“Oh!” Peter said, when a hand was suddenly pressed against his cock, squeezing it, and then disappearing again. Fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers.

“Okay if I take these off?” Deadpool said.

“Yeah,” Peter managed, his face flaming when they were slid down his thighs. And then gloved hands were moving over his ass, gripping and squeezing it appreciatively. One of the hands disappeared for a second, and in the next, Peter felt hot breath over his—

“Woah!” he said. “What… what are you—”

“You’re gonna like it,” Deadpool said knowingly. “Trust me.”

The next thing Peter knew, there was a hot tongue lapping at his asshole and he was gasping into his pillow, his arms and thighs trembling as they held him up. He couldn’t control the noises escaping him, and he was barely aware of Deadpool’s hands all over him, sliding over his thighs, his sides, his stomach. He could only concentrate on that heat, the wet, the feeling of Deadpool’s tongue sliding inside of him.

“Oh God,” Peter choked out, and Deadpool hummed, which only made things worse. Or better, technically.

It was all too much, all happening too quickly. Peter had never experienced something like this before, and the foreign sensation was overriding his mind. Embarrassingly enough, he ended up proving Deadpool right. Before he came, he stopped moaning, stopped whimpering. He grew silent, and it was like that was an on-switch for Deadpool.

He grew even sloppier, licking and _sucking_  on Peter’s skin, and then his hand was under Peter’s hips, wrapped around his cock, and Peter came without a sound. His entire body was shaking — _shivery_ , Deadpool had described it as — and Deadpool milked him for all he was worth, finally backing away once Peter was twitching in over stimulation.

And then Deadpool was collapsing next to Peter on the bed, pulling him into his arms and running gloved fingers through his hair. “How was that, baby?” he asked.

Peter managed a grunt, and Deadpool laughed.

“I love you, Peter-piper,” he said, the words murmured against the side of Peter’s head. “Happy birthday.”

Peter fell asleep not much longer after that, and Deadpool was long gone by the time he woke up in the morning. And if Peter ended up seeking out the mercenary that night for an impromptu Taco Tuesday — _“Spidey! You_ never _call it that when it’s not Tuesday! What’s the occasion?!”_  — then, well, he deserved it. It was his birthday, after all.


End file.
